


Threats of Violence

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Show) [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, geralt and his adorkable threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:56:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: “If he draws his sword, I’ll take it from him and beat the snotty-nosed little brat’s arse with the flat of his blade.” - The Last Wish, page 84Five times Geralt threatens Jaskier with bodily harm, and one time he's forced to follow through on the threats.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (Show) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624300
Comments: 42
Kudos: 510
Collections: witcher





	1. I ought to turn him over my knee and whip some sense into him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was reading The Last Wish (which I highly recommend) and one thing that stood out to me was the sheer number of times a character got whipped/thrashed/spanked. Seriously. It happens a lot. 
> 
> Anyway, several of those times are Geralt threatening to spank complete strangers, which cracks me up, so I thought he probably threatens Jaskier a lot too.

“You,” Geralt said, pushing his finger into Jaskier’s chest. “Are going to get us both killed.”

Jaskier could only shrug.

The poet seemed rather proud of himself, despite all the trouble he’d gotten them both into, as though he was completely unaware of how close he’d come to dying.

Of course, he wasn’t the one who’d gotten thrown into a slime pit.

Jaskier hadn’t been the one to be thrown into the swampy pit. Geralt had jumped in the way before the creature could grab the bard, so it had been the Witcher to fall in the horrible, stinking mess.

“Come now, Geralt,” Jaskier said cheerfully, adjusting his lute over his shoulder. “It wasn’t that-”

“When you came in there, rushing in there, yelling and shouting like a buffoon-”

“I was trying to help!”

“Well, you can take your help and stuff it up your arse!” He grabbed Roach’s reins and stomped off, muttering to the horse, “I ought to turn him over my knee and whip some sense into him.”

She snorted knowingly, bobbing her head and almost seeming to nod. 

“You agree?” he asked, scratching her forehead. "I can't see it helping, the poor fool would probably turn it into a ballad."

“Agree about what?” Jaskier demanded, hurrying up behind him. “You know I can’t stand when you two keep secrets from me! It’s not fair, just because I don’t speak horse-”

Geralt only grinned, keeping his back to Jaskier so the poet couldn’t see his amused face. "Come on bard!" he shouted. "Or I will turn you over my knee!"

"What!?"


	2. I will drag you to the nearest tavern and belt your bare arse in front of the entire room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt doesn't appreciate Jaskier's latest ballad.

He’d heard the words of Jaskier’s latest composition before he even met up with the bard. As with most of his compositions, it had quickly made the rounds of local poets, but unlike most of his compositions, it had quickly become a drinking song.

Whether or not Jaskier had intended for it to become so infamous or not - Geralt could almost see him composing it while drunk and forgetting about it until someone called for an encore - the matter remained that he’d apparently continued to sing it.

Geralt didn’t give one whit what Jaskier sang about him, but the fact that he’d brought Vesemir into it made it a different matter entirely.

Jaskier had been in Novigrad for some time, performing there, and it wasn’t hard to find a contract that gave Geralt a reason to go to the free city, so he soon found himself sitting on a bench, tucked in the back of the tavern, as Jaskier himself sang the ballad.

_When the old gods, this order established,_

_They called us the "Witch of the Screw!”_

_Good rules were revealed to ol’ Vesemir,_

_To guide us in what we should do._

_But first he replenished our fountain_

_With liquor the best from on high,_

_And he said, on the word of a saint,_

_That the fountain should never run dry._

_" Each year, when your octaves approach_

_In full chapter convened let me find you ;_

_And when to Kaer Morhen you come,_

_Leave your favourite temptation behind you._

_And be not a glass in your convent_

_Unless on a festival_ _found ;_

_And, this rule to enforce, I ordain it_

_One festival all the year-round._

_" My brethren be chaste_ _till you're tempted ;_

_While sober be grave and discreet;_

_And humble your bodies with fasting_ . 

_As oft as you've nothing to eat._

Jaskier bowed as he finished his song, and - having spotted Geralt in the audience, he gave him and grin and a cheerful wave of his hat. “Geralt!”

He jumped down from the stage, pressing through the crowd until he was standing by the Witcher’s table. Thankfully, a bar fight broke out - some scuffle over a stolen girl - and the attention of the bar was taken off the poet and his guest. “What brings you to Novigrad?” he asked excitedly, sitting down and beaming at Geralt. “Let me buy you a drink! You can tell me about your latest adventures and I-”

“Can humiliate my friends further?” Geralt interrupted, fixing Jaskier with a disapproving stare.

“Humiliate?” Jaskier seemed utterly clueless as to why his ballad was so annoying. “I don’t-”

“ _The Witch of the Screw_?” Geralt hissed through his teeth. “Really, Jaskier?”

“I thought it was rather witty and clever, and- don’t give me that look- alright, maybe I did compose it while drunk but-”

Geralt leaned forward, slamming his hands on the table. “I never want to hear that song again, Bard-”

“Oh, really, it’s not-”

“Or I will drag you to the nearest tavern and belt your bare arse in front of the entire room, you voyeuristic bastard.”

Jaskier yelped, clutching his hat and looking horrified. “Geralt!”

Geralt leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “What?” he asked calmly. “I thought it was _rather witty and clever_.”

“You- I- how dare- You sir, need a drink!” Jaskier jumped to his feet and hurried off. With amusement, Geralt noticed that he cinched his belt tighter, as though that would really stop the Witcher from baring his arse. 

Geralt snorted and shook his head, almost pitying the poor fool for his obvious terror. Almost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier’s ballad is based on an old folk song called The Monks of the Screw


	3. Since you’ve already bared your arse, perhaps I ought to thrash it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier invites a woman to his and Geralt's rooms.

Geralt folded his arms over his chest, his eyes flashing.

Jaskier’s pick for the evening, a rather buxom woman, had fled the moment Geralt opened the door, leaving only the poor bard, still somewhat dazed in a post coital bliss, not even trying to locate his pants as the Witcher stomped into the room, tossing down his swords with a clatter.

“Care to explain?”

“Lust Geralt,” said the bard cheerfully. “It truly is the most innate of human emotions, it drives men-”

“To fuck strangers in their friend’s bed?”

“Our bedroom, Geralt, our-”

“I paid for the damned room, Bard!”

Jaskier managed to look slightly embarrassed at that, flashing Geralt an attempt at an apologetic smile. “Alright, so that was rather rude, I’ll admit, but Geralt, she was so magnificent, so beautiful, so-”

“Fuck off.”

Jaskier finally sat up, pulling the blanket up to cover himself. “Alright, Geralt, next time-”

“Next time?” Geralt snarled, grabbing his crumpled shirt collar and lifting him off the bed. Jaskier choked and grabbed at his throat. “There’s not going to be a next time, Jaskier.”

“Geralt-” he wheezed.

“Since you’ve already bared your arse, perhaps I ought to thrash it.”

“Geralt!”

He dropped Jaskier, the bard bouncing slightly on the bed and then looking around wildly for his pants.

“Where’s your belt, Jaskier?” he asked, holding back an amused smile as Jaskier scrambled away. “Bring it here, let’s get this over with-”

“Geralt!” he yelped. Having located his pants, he struggled to pull them up, too distracted to notice that the Witcher had begun grinning. “This is hardly a fair fight, you’ve got many, many more muscles than I have. All I have is my voice, and that’s not going to stop you, clearly. I always thought you believed in fighting fair-”

“This isn’t fighting. It’s a whipping. Haven’t you ever had one of those?” he said, barely holding in his laughter as Jaskier realized his belt wasn’t attached to his pants and scrambled to find it.

“I have, as a matter of fact, and I did not appreciate- Ah ha!” he spotted his belt at the exact same time as Geralt, but the Witcher got to it first, snatching it away and cracking it at Jaskier.

The bard gave up on his belt and fled the room.

Geralt found himself suddenly in the middle of the room, quite alone, and grinning like a lunatic. “Damned bard’s rubbing off on me,” he grumbled. But try as he might, he couldn't deny it had been funny. 


	4. Give me your belt and I’ll give you something to cry about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier was told not to touch Roach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place shortly after episode two.

“One rule,” Geralt growled, narrowing his eyes at the bard. “I had one rule.”

“To be entirely fair, Geralt, you’ve given me a lot of orders, and I’ve followed them all to the letter-”

“Don’t touch Roach, Bard, that’s all I asked-” He loomed over Jaskier, who was doing his best to become one with the tree Geralt had slammed him into.

He’d finished killing the monsters he’d been hunting, only to find that Jaskier had jumped on Roach and fled, so instead of riding back to the village and getting his reward, he’d had to hunt down the bard and his stolen horse. Once he’d found them, he’d pulled Jaskier out of the saddle and shoved him into a tree, holding him by his hair.

“Actually, you also asked me to - and I quote - ‘fuck off’ and I’ve not done that yet either-”

Geralt tightened his grip on Jaskier’s mop of curls and the bard whimpered. “Oh don’t whine,” he growled. “Give me your belt and I’ll give you something to cry about.”

“Geralt!”

“Don’t act as though you don’t deserve a thrashing, you thieving little-”

“I thought I was going to die!” Jaskier looked so close to tears, so truly terrified, that Geralt released him, letting him sink to his knees. “That creature looked at me and- oh fuck- Geralt it wanted me for breakfast, I knew it did, and I knew you could take care of yourself, but I couldn’t leave Roach, and- oh please don’t whip me!” He told himself that he wasn't taking pity on him by releasing him, it was just because he didn't want to deal with a crying companion. It had nothing to do with how his chest tightened in pity and concern at the sight of Jaskier, who clearly had not fully realized how dangerous monsters were.

Geralt grabbed him - by his arm this time - and pulled him to his feet. “Get up,” he said, leaning over to snarl into Jaskier's face, almost menacingly. “Understand this bard, the only way a monster will get you is if it gets through me first. You hear me?”

Jaskier nodded hesitantly.

“Good. Now: Don’t. Touch. Roach!” He swatted him on the back of the head for good measure, then hoisted himself into the saddle, tossing the trophy he’d taken from the creature over her rump.

“You’d best get moving,” he said. “It’s a long walk back to town.” He nudged Roach into a trot and Jaskier cried out.

“Don’t leave me! Geralt! Damn you!”

Once he felt Jaskier was sufficiently irritated, huffing and puffing along behind him, he reined his horse in, slowing her to a walk and letting Jaskier catch up.


	5. When you write your song, make sure you include the part about how I tanned your hide after saving it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's disguise leaves a great deal to be desired.

Jaskier didn’t seem to understand the concept of disguises, or going undercover, or ‘ _pretending you don’t know me_.’

Geralt had wanted to creep into the fortress without alerting the smugglers living there to the fact that there was a contract on their heads. Instead, he’d claimed to merely be traveling, and searching for someone to repair his armor. He’d taken a spare leather bracer, giving it to the keep’s armorer, and settled down to wait.

Then he’d seen Jaskier.

Where the fool had gotten his hands on the costume, he did not want to know, although a part of him almost admired the bard for his ingenuity. He pranced - yes, pranced - up to the gate, wearing ill-fitting leather armor, one of Geralt’s spare swords strapped to his waist.

“Who are you?” Demanded one of the smugglers.

“I am a knight errant!” He announced. “The Great Sir-” he paused, and, thankfully, was smart enough not to give his real name. “Dandelion!”

Geralt wasn’t the only one who laughed at that.

“And, Sir Dandelion, what do you intend to do? Are you planning to take us all on at once?”

“No! I- I will challenge you, sir, to a duel!” Clearly he’d run out of ideas long ago. Any one of the smugglers could probably push him over with a finger. 

Deciding that he’d had enough fun watching Jaskier make a fool of himself, Geralt stood. “If he draws his sword, I’ll take it from him and beat the snotty-nosed little brat’s arse with the flat of his blade.”

The bandits began to laugh.

“Why-” began Jaskier, looking somewhat offended. “You sir, are being very rude!”

“Perhaps he’d prefer I put him over my knee and use my hand on him, like a _little baby boy_.”

Jaskier’s entire face turned comically red and he spluttered indignantly. “Why-”

“Shut up,” Geralt said.

Jaskier clamped his mouth shut.

* * *

Later, after they’d managed to frighten off the bandits and were on their way back to the town for their reward, Geralt turned to Jaskier. “When I tell you to stay behind, you stay behind-”

“Geralt, I was only worried-”

“That you’d miss the exciting parts, Jaskier, I know.”

“Don’t be-”

“When you write your song, make sure you include the part about how I tanned your hide after saving it!”

“But you haven’t tanned my hide,” Jaskier argued.

“Not yet I haven’t.”

The poet yelped and raced ahead, leaving Geralt to grin at Roach. “Stupid bard,” he muttered. “Gullible, isn’t he?” Roach snorted, nudging her head into Geralt's shoulder. "Ah, and I almost forgot, his name's Dandelion now, and we're not going to let him forget it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If he draws his sword, I’ll take it from him and beat the snotty-nosed little brat’s arse with the flat of his blade.” - The Last Wish, page 84
> 
> This is the quote from The Last Wish (the book) and it’s actually Geralt threatening a random soldier who was annoying him, but I thought it would be funnier to turn it on Jaskier instead. 
> 
> I know Geralt doesn’t do many contracts with people and bandits in the books…. but he does in the game. So there. Fight me.
> 
> Geralt Voice: he's a stupid bard, but he's my stupid bard


	6. I suppose he does deserve to have his ass reddened with a paddle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt’s threats amuse him, until he’s forced to follow through on one.

“I caught this whelp o’ yours in bed with my sister!” A villager was holding Jaskier by the back of his shirt, shaking him rather violently to make a point.

_“Geralt,”_ Jaskier mouthed, as though pleading with the Witcher to free him from the tormentor. His shirt was being pressed into his throat, which seemed to have momentarily stolen his voice.

But Geralt only leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh did you?” he asked coldly. He wasn’t entirely certain why the man felt he needed to bring Jaskier to him. Usually, the bard was chased to him, not brought.

“You ain’t raised your son right, if he’s bedding innocent ladies.”

The Bard and the Witcher exchanged confused glances. Geralt’s instinct was to assure the man that Jaskier was not his son - was the village so sheltered they didn’t realize Witchers were sterile? - But it was far too easy, too tempting, to ask, “And how shall my _son_ apologize?”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped, for once, he seemed to be at a loss for words for a reason other than the shirt crushing his windpipe.

“If ‘e were mine, I’d whip him.”

“Highly tempting,” Geralt said, swallowing his amusement when Jaskier’s eyes widened. “I suppose he does deserve to have his ass reddened with a paddle.”

“Ain’t got no paddle, but the boy’s wearin’ a perfectly good belt.” Before Geralt could fully realize what was about to happen, the villager had pulled off Jaskier’s leather belt with one swift tug and held it out to Geralt.

“If you ain’t gonna whip ‘im, I’d be-”

“I’ve got it,” Geralt said, even as his throat tightened. He’d lost count of how many times he’d threatened his friend, but he’d never intended to go through with it. But leaving him to the mercy of the stranger wasn’t an option.

Jaskier looked terrified as Geralt took the belt, his mouth dry.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. The bard was almost in tears and he hadn’t even touched him yet. Jaskier knew how strong he was, even while pulling his punches, Geralt could do a lot of damage. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t worried, but the lie felt flimsy and hollow, even to himself.

“Turn around,” he said harshly, refusing to meet Jaskier’s eyes. The bard turned slowly facing away from Geralt, his hands shaking.

Geralt tightened his grip on the belt, gritting his teeth before cracking it against Jaskier’s ass. He’d not put his entire strength behind it, it was barely more than a tap, but his friend lurched anyway and gasped. He struck him twice more for good measure, then stopped, unable to continue, even if he was sparing Jaskier from a worse fate.

“Is that all?” The man demanded.

Geralt had to think quickly. “I’ll not strip him in front of a stranger,” he said. “I’ll take him to the woods and deal with him there.”

“Deal with-” Jaskier began.

He stomped on the bard’s foot, hoping he got the hint and shut up. Giving him a stern glance, he said, “Unless you’d prefer I whip you in front of this gentleman?”

“No, sir!”

“Go back to camp!” he barked, giving Jaskier another light slap on the ass as he fled.

“I’ll let ‘im off this time, but he touches my girl again and I’ll have ‘im gelded!”

“Don’t worry,” Geralt promised, looping Jaskier’s belt around his hand. “I’ll whip some sense into him.”

He nodded to the man and then hurried after Jaskier, catching up to him just inside the trees. Grabbing the bard’s shirt, he pulled him back and ordered, “Scream.”

“What?” Jaskier asked.

“I said scream.”

“Why should I-”

Geralt grabbed his shirt, shoved him against the side of a tree. “Because that man thinks I’m whipping you, and if he realizes I’m not he plans to geld you!”

“You- you’re not whipping me?”

The Witcher threw up his arms in frustration. “Hell, Jaskier, I’m not actually your father!” he hissed. “Now, scream, damn it!”

He should have known better than to ask. Jaskier had a trained voice, and he tilted his head back, opening his mouth, and letting out a shrill wail. Geralt clamped his hands over his ears and swore.

Jaskier wasn’t done, falling into his character with zest. “Father!” he wailed. “Father I’m sorry- I- owwwww! Mercy! Please! Father!”

Geralt motioned for him to walk back to camp, still screaming and shouting. Once they were far enough away for their voices to have faded out of the villager’s hearing, he growled, “You can shut up now.”

“And you,” Jaskier said, turning to glare at Geralt, “can apologize for scaring me out of my wits! Truly, what were you thinking- my poor bottom-”

“If anyone deserves an apology it’s me!” Geralt growled. “I’m always the one who has to save your ass-”

“Save it? You whipped it!”

“Would you rather that villager get his hands on you?!”

Jaskier seemed to deflate. “Well, no, I wouldn’t, actually.” 

“Then stop fucking everything with tits!” He tossed Jaskier’s belt at him. “Put that back on before your pants fall off.”

“I don’t fuck everything with tits,” Jaskier muttered, looking rather offended. “Sometimes I fuck people with balls-”

Geralt pretended to reach for his belt, and Jaskier yelped, pulling away. “Geralt!”

The Witcher only chuckled. “Move it, bard. Or should I say, son?”

“Don’t you _dare_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt definitely looks old as balls. It’s the hair. 
> 
> So I absolutely think that he could pass for Jaskier’s dad, particularly when Jaskier’s bouncing around in bright, glittery outfits.


End file.
